


Back to Normal

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Written for the Tumblr XF Tipsy Challenge. I wasn't tipsy but I did have a big night last night and I’m super tired so that’s kind of the same thing, right? Anyway, this is a sickfic with Mulder looking after Scully. Set after Ice.





	

Mulder knocked at the door and waited. It was the first time he’d come to Scully’s apartment uninvited. It felt odd. He felt like she would be angry somehow. But he was worried. She hadn’t come to work for two days. Skinner said she was sick but it was unlike her not to call him herself. He’d spent most of last night raking through what he might have said or done since they returned from Alaska. The worm case was horrific and they’d been testy with each other. He thought their partnership was tracking well, but the tension on that case had been something else. It could easily drive a wedge between them.   
“Scully, it’s me. Are you there?”   
“Mulder?”   
The door pulled open and she let him in. She was tiny and pale, wrapped in a white fluffy robe. She was hugging herself. “I’m sorry for coming unannounced but…are you okay?”   
“I’m fine, Mulder.”   
“Skinner said you’re sick.”   
“I’ve been feeling a little off colour. I’ll be fine by tomorrow. Tea?”  
“You didn’t call me, Scully.”   
He winced as he said it. She gave him the eyebrow. He deserved it. She blanched then. And clutched her abdomen. He watched as she clamped a hand over her mouth and rushed by him to the bathroom. He heard the ungodly sound of Scully chucking up and felt bile rise in his own throat. She really was sick. Hot prickles studded the back of his neck. He’d actually thought she might be faking, just to get away from him. And now she was throwing up in her own toilet and he was standing around doing nothing.   
“Do you still want tea, Scully?” What the actual fuck? Why would he say that? “Maybe just some water for now.” Her voice was drowned out by the flush of the toilet.   
He stood in the kitchen. Where were her glasses? He opened three cupboards before he found them. Did she use the tap at the sink, or did she keep water in the fridge? He opened the door to check but saw nothing but yoghurt and prepacked salads.   
“Here you go. Drink this and sit down. Water will help.” Fuck, he sounded like a grade school teacher.   
“Thank you, Mulder.” Her hands shook as she took the glass and sipped. What the hell do you say to your newish partner when she’s sick?   
“Scully, would you be better off in bed?”   
Oh. My. Lord. Not that.   
She had the grace to offer him a confused smile before shaking her head. “Really, I’m fine. It’ll pass. It usually does.”   
He nodded and looked at her hands, clasped together on the table. She was scraping at the skin on her thumb. She was concentrating on the water. Her apartment was bright and clean and neat and he felt like he was making a mess just being there. Why the hell had he come?   
“Why did you come, Mulder? Are you checking up on me?”   
“I was worried about you.”   
“You’re right though. I should have called you.”   
“It’s okay.”   
“That last case, Mulder. It strained our partnership and …oh, I think I’m going…” 

She spent longer in the bathroom this time. He stood outside the door, fingers around the handle, battling with himself. To go in or to give her some space. He pushed the handle and opened the door. She was a pathetic sight, kneeling on the floor, head over the bowl.   
“Scully…”   
“I’m okay. You don’t need to…”   
He knelt next to her and brushed her hair from her face. Her fringe was damp and sticky. She moaned lightly and heaved again. He looked away, swallowing down his own gag reflex. Should he rub her back? That’s what his mother used to do.   
“I’m fine now. It’s all gone, I think.”   
She stood up but leant against him. She was shaking. Or shivering.   
“You feel clammy but you’re trembling. You have a fever, Scully. You need to lie down.”   
He took her weight and led her to her bedroom. His stomach churned as he crossed over the threshold and took in the sight of her room. It had been a fantasy of his, to imagine what Scully’s bedroom might look like. In his wilder moments it was a dark, broody den. In his paranoid moments, it was a sterile office-style room, filled with medical data and her little reports. In most of his dreams, though, it was just like her – compact, intriguing, feminine, nuanced. There were shadows playing on the walls, there were books on her shelves he never imagined she would read, there were fresh flowers and Renaissance prints and tidy stacks of magazines, a necklace tree and the smell of Scully.  
“Mulder? Are you going to let me get into bed?”   
“Oh, sorry. Yes. Let me help you. Here. Is that okay?”   
“You don’t have to stay. I think I’m just going to sleep.”   
“You sleep. I’ll wait.”   
“For what?”   
Fuck knows. But it seemed like the right thing to do. 

She slept for three hours. He’d slipped out to the shops to get the ingredients to make the chicken noodle soup his mother used to feed him. He was stirring when she came into the kitchen.   
“Smells…”   
“Burnt?”   
“I was going to say like you’ve been making an effort to look after me, Mulder. That’s sweet.”   
“Do you feel better?”   
“I do. What have you made?”   
“Apart from a gigantic mess? It’s my mother’s chicken soup.”   
“For my soul?”   
“For your body.”   
She quirked a brow.   
“That came out wrong.”   
“It’s okay.” She giggled. And it sounded like heaven. “There are bowls in the drawer over there.”   
“Are you going to be okay, Scully?”   
“I’m going to be fine. It’s just a bug, or something.”   
“There’s no such thing as just a bug in our line of work, Scully. Do you need to see a doctor?”   
“It’s not contagious, Mulder.”   
“How do you know?”   
“I just do.”   
What the hell was that supposed to mean?   
“I’ll get some soup.”   
“You’ll make a great husband one day, Mulder.”   
“Is that a joke, Scully?”   
“No. I’m sorry. I meant it.”   
“I’ve just never had anyone say anything remotely like that to me before. And on the strength of one bowl of pretty mushy chicken soup, I’m not sure you should be offering an opinion of such depth just yet.”   
“You need to learn to take a compliment, Mulder.”   
“I think I would be the worst husband in the world, Scully.”   
“Well, you do ditch people without any warning. And you keep things to yourself. You’re a bit paranoid and you can be so intense that you make people feel a little uncomfortable…”   
“Geez, Scully. Don’t hold back.”   
“You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say, but you are empathetic, sensitive, intelligent, charming and you are wickedly funny. Women like that.”   
He could feel the blush burn his cheeks. “Thanks for the tip. If I get a gig as a stand up at the bar down the street, do you think I’ll be bending down on one knee before the end of the year?”   
“Mulder, you’d be a great catch. That’s all I’m saying.”   
“What about you, Scully? Any husband material out there? You told me once that you wanted to have a life. Are you having one?”   
“I am. I mean I was…I mean I’ve dated. But…”   
“But?”   
“But, let’s just say it didn’t work out.”   
“I’m sorry, Scully. This job is…”   
“It wasn’t the job, Mulder.”   
“Then more fool him, Scully.”   
“Ethan…we dated a while back and split and got back together and he just wanted more…than I could give him.”   
“Oh.”   
“I’m not ready for that. I’m excited to see where The X Files take us. Ethan was excited to see where the travel agent could take us. He was planning this whole cross-country drive thing and he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go. And then we had the case and he was mad. And anyway, long story short, we argued. We made up. We argued again. And now I’m sick because…” She looked at the soup. Her voice wavered. Her lips rolled together. She blinked twice in rapid succession. She rubbed the tip of her nose and sniffed. Oh fuck. She was crying.   
“What is it Scully?”   
“Nothing. It’s the…I’m just a little…hor…tired still.”   
Shit. He opened his mouth to say something useful, but his brain hadn’t caught up. He took a sip of soup. It really was disgusting.   
She pushed the bowl away. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I’m just not hungry. But thank you for making it. It was really nice of you to come over. I’m not much company. Maybe you should go.”   
“Scully, if you need to tell me something, please just say it. After what happened out on the ice, the gun thing, the arguing, I don’t want us to be like that. We’ve worked hard to build up trust and I don’t want anything to get in the way of us being honest with each other.”   
“It’s nothing to do with us or our partnership, Mulder.” She bit down on her lip and cast her eyes to the table again.   
“Fine.” He stood up to leave. Her face whipped up. Her eyes sparked. She stood up too, her chair grinding against the tiles. She closed the gap between them and opened her mouth to speak but her face fell and she turned white. She gripped the table and sucked in a huge mouthful of air. “I’m going to…”   
She chucked up what little soup she’d ingested over him, spluttering and spitting out more as she doubled over and collapsed to the floor. He looked down at his shirt, hot against his skin and then at Scully who was sobbing in a crumpled heap. He grabbed a cloth and patted it against his middle but nothing was going to get rid of that mess. Instead he pulled the buttons apart and took the shirt and his tee off, lobbing them into the sink before sinking down to Scully. He braced his hands on her shoulders and she looked up at him, tears filling her eyes and her mouth wobbling with embarrassment.   
“I’m so sorry, Mulder. The medication makes me vomit.”   
“Medication?”   
“Emergency hormonal contraception.”   
“What?”   
“The morning after pill. I was stupid. With Ethan.”   
“Oh. Breaking up and making up. I get it. It’s not stupid, Scully.”   
“It is for me. I never do that. I’m always so…”   
“Good?”   
“I was going to say careful. Can you help me up?” 

She leant against him and they stood up together. He looked at her, vulnerable before him and knew she felt lousy. Not just physically but emotionally. Dana Scully making a mistake. That didn’t sit well with her. He pulled her closer and she relaxed into him. Her face on his bare chest.   
“I’m sorry, Scully.”   
“What for, Mulder? None of this is your fault.”   
“I’m sorry you feel this way. You shouldn’t have to feel like you can’t ever make a mistake, Scully. That’s no way to live a life.”   
“I don’t have a life, Mulder.”   
He chuckled against her hair. “Do you want one?”   
“Ask me again tomorrow.”   
“What will be different tomorrow?”   
“I’ll be back at work. And you’ll make some wild claim about mutants or aliens and I’ll roll my eyes and you’ll offer some lame statistic about a case from 1927 and I’ll offer you a scientific explanation that you’ll try to pull apart and then you’ll make me laugh and everything will be back to normal.”   
“And I’ll probably be wearing a shirt again.” He looked down at his chest. He could still feel the warmth of her there.   
“I’m so sorry about that, Mulder. I’ll wash it and iron it for you by tomorrow. I have an old sweatshirt here somewhere for you to wear home.”   
“It’s not every day your partner spews on you.”   
“I owe you.”   
“You owe me nothing, Scully.” 

He waited for her to get the sweatshirt. She handed it to him, the colour in her cheeks rising nicely. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Scully.”   
“See you tomorrow, Mulder.”  
He pulled it on and it smelled like her.


End file.
